Invitation to a Beheading
by Sober Dogs Bore Me
Summary: A meeting with a Seer shatters the conflicted world of Lily Potter and sends her into a warpath with her husband, and consequently, with Albus Dumbledore. It is 1983 and the Wizarding World is once again descending into chaos. Alternate History.
1. Prologue

**Invitation to a Beheading**

**Summery: **A meeting with a Seer shatters the conflicted world of Lily Potter and sends her into a warpath with her husband, and consequently, with Albus Dumbledore. It is 1983 and the Wizarding World is once again descending into chaos. Alternate History. Book 1 of 3.

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and all related franchises are the property of J.K Rowling and I do not stand to make any monetary profit from them.

* * *

**Prologue**

**A **child's shriek lingered in the air.

Lily stood leaning against the door, her eyes drooping and her hair strewn about her face in a fierce, red mess that somehow accentuated the sheer exhaustion that trembled her limbs and escaped with every weary sigh. He watched as she heaved against the door, once twice, and then finally drag herself across the room. "Oh James," she said collapsing on the bed. "This is not right. We need to get out."

Standing beside the window, James Potter silently watched his wife. There was little expression on his face, but his arms were stiff and convulsing with violent need. He watched as she mourned, twisting the sheets in her arms, wearied tears spilling out of her beautiful eyes.

"I can't stay here like this. I can't James. I can't. No more."

The air was still and bittersweet. The windows were thrown open to beguile whatever little circulation they could. James tried not to glance through the windows. The violence searing through him was unstable enough: if he glanced outside and acknowledged what he could not see, he knew it would burst.

She was spread wide open upon their bed, her arms dead and tangled up in the silken sheets, her legs carelessly propped over the edge of the bed offering dark glimpses into the recesses of her robes. Her chest heaved with her silent cries. She looked so beautiful then, so delectable with the tears spilling over her pale skin, sparking in the light of the fireplace… he had to turn away.

"…Harry looks so sick James."

A little bulge in one's arms, one head, four limbs, ten precious little fingers gripping between then a long, calloused finger with a diamond ring. A loud, unformed, unfocused laugh. The soft delicate swell of the stomach.

She cried again. "Harry is sick. You haven't seen him in days, I know. You bastard."

_Of course I have seen him. I can't stand to look at him. He's my son dammit! My flesh and blood. And we're killing him softly. _

And once again, she broke down. Her soft cries battered against him.

It had been six months, just under six months that they had been confined to Godric's Hollow. Six months of living under the Fidelius, _safe from Voldemort _but not from each other. The first few days had been the most shocking. As the charm had erected itself the sunlight snuffed out, plunging them in sheer, complete darkness.

And Harry begun to cry.

From then on everything had begun to deteriorate. The shifty, flickering light of the torches played over the house, a dance with the shadows, withering against the walls, creating a silent, eerie atmosphere that was so very alien to them. Living in this, this… madness had slowly broken them down into a jagged mess, sharp with protuberances bloody with their squabbles. And amongst it all, Harry had begun to die.

It was a gradual decline. At first it was strange how he never seemed to grow, despite however much he ate. He began to laugh less, to wiggle a bit more weakly, to suckle for increasingly shorter lengths of time upon her breasts. Then a few months in, there was a small patch on his forehead paler than the rest of his healthy, pink skin. And it spread, and spread… grew until the ghostly outlines of his veins seemed to be visible underneath his deathly pallor. Crying over him, one day James pronounced what they had been thinking.

"Harry is dying."

It was the first time she had ever hurt him, sent him away beaten and betrayed to fend to his injuries. It was not the last time they had hurt each other.

From then on, the threads began to wear off faster.

The days passed, filled with unease and they stared at the door wondering why nobody came.

He couldn't bare to look at his son, couldn't bare to wonder what all Harry could have done but would not do. She couldn't bare to give Harry up. She sat beside his crib, pouring over a thousand books she had taken with them. Eventually she came to a conclusion they had long divined. The Fidelius was no place to raise a kid.

_You have killed us Dumbledore. _

And if they left this house, it would break, shatter into a million little slivers illuminated underneath the dead sky by a flash of green.

He stood supported by the wall, staring into the nothingness above their bed, searing with barely contained violence drugged up by his thoughts about the past.

It was a while before he realized she was speaking again.

"I think _'Lumos'_ helps James. He needs the sunlight, doesn't he? But I can't hold it any longer…god I feel so tired."

James closed his eyes. He'd seen her, watched her for hours while she slept, in one hand her wand alit with _Lumos_ and the other draped over Harry, resting upon the precious bulge of his stomach. He'd wanted to go in, go in and kiss his child, kiss him till not a drop of skin was left untouched. But he didn't. He stood frozen at the doorway, watching them rest, watching them as Lily began to sweat, to twitch and convulse with magical exhaustion. The fires of the corridor threw deep shadows upon his back and the desperation inspired _Lumos _of his wife scalded him. It was madness she was killing herself over. He couldn't care less, hoping it would help his son.

"…James, can you do it please? Just for a few hours, then I'll go back to it I swear."

When had he stopped, he wondered. When had he stopped loving her to be able to watch her kill herself without a twinge of regret and compassion? He looked at her. She was wafer thin now, with dark circles beneath her eyes. Her skin had a sallow look it, and her eyes, almost perceptually bulging had a feverish sparkle to them. She was lying in a fetal position upon the bed, her legs touching the swell of her breasts, the rise and fall of her chest barely perceptible. Her voice was muffled and accusing.

"You aren't listening are you? _Bastard_."

She unfolded her body and pushed up, glaring at him. Her damp hair was stuck to her back but a few mangled curls dropped over her face. They were red as fire.

"Dammit Potter. Damn you."

Her hands roved upon the bed sheets for the wand she had dropped. She found it and pointed it straight at him.

He was faster. He brandished his wand and she flew back, her legs getting mangled with the bed sheets. She gave a loud shriek of pain as she hit the wall and dropped headfirst upon the sheets. He growled and threw both their wands away and turned towards the window, grabbing the curtains.

Outside was dark as hell. _You have killed in us, Dumbledore, all that is good and holy, _he thought but with not an inch of regret. Only a primal hunger to hurt.

Stashing the curtains across the window he turned towards Lily. She was crawling away from him with wild, fearful eyes that somehow intensified how innocent, how naïve, how _wretched _she looked.

Love, he thought, laughing. Love! It was but a memory. This imprisonment, this helplessness with her and that sick, dying child seemed to have killed all notions of love from him.

"James…"

Her voice was uncertain, unsure. He pictured her beneath him, writhing, crying, and it didn't matter anymore.

He waved an empty hand and somehow his clothes fell from his body, shredded. Her eyes opened impossibly wild.

"_Lily."_

* * *

**End Notes: - **

**Timeline Change:** Fudge says that the Fidelius Charm was cast "barely a week" before Voldemort came after the Potters. (PA10) – Lexicon

I've changed it to six months. Why will be revealed as the history of this world is revealed.

**Mechanics change:** The power of the Fidelius Charm will be diluted more and more as more and more people are Secret Keepers (_DH6_). – Lexicon

I've spread this to apply to inanimate resources as well. Fidelius hides a person/place to anyone unable to make the conscious process of identification: if anyone is unable to consciously acknowledge that the Potter's were living at Godric's Hallow, they could not bypass the charm. Hence, Air, Sunlight, Groundwater, Bacterium's are bared from entry. This is why the charm was already weakened by letting in Air.

Done this for two reasons: One, Plot device, two: I find the Fidelius of JKR's world a bit flawed because it does not take into consideration the inanimate, ecological factors such as the wind, the soil, and most importantly, sunlight.

**Ps. **I have Chapter one and two _penned _down. Hoping to post Chapter one soon.


	2. Book 1: Chapter One

**Invitation to a Beheading**

**Summery: **A meeting with a Seer shatters the conflicted world of Lily Potter and sends her into a warpath with her husband, and consequently, with Albus Dumbledore. It is 1983 and the Wizarding World is once again descending into chaos. Alternate History. Book 1 of 3.

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter and all related franchises are the property of J.K Rowling and I do not stand to make any monetary profit from them.

* * *

**Book 1  
Chapter One  
**Into the Night

"We are done with work Lily," Albus said, clapping his hands to disappear the ensemble they had just been conversing upon. "Now walk with me."

She nodded and fell in step beside him. It was a conscious gesture and if he were startled by it, it did not show. They walked upon the shabby path that meandered around numerous large floral arrangements, and a small rock face sprinkled with a thousand hues. At some other time she felt it could have been quite an enchanting experience. She had seen far too little of the extensive gardens of Godric's Hollow during her confinement here. And it seemed to have improved dramatically in recent years.

"It is quite a wonderful respite, is it not Lily?"

"It is, sir."

And it was. The air here was still and sweet despite being suffused she imagined with a thousand scents. The dusty path littered with the refuge of so any plants tread a slow and picturesque walk towards the larger, more open expanses. Walking through here seemed almost little a rustic experience, since there was little _suggestion _of order. Wild flowers bloomed delightedly at random intervals and the calm serenity of the place seemed to sever a person from the harsh realities of life.

But not her, not now.

She could appreciate it intellectually, but there was little space presently for these pleasantries. The recent discussion plagued her mind. Now the small skirmish at Hogsmeade seemed to suggest far bolder intentions than she had ever imagined. She felt awed at the manner in which Albus had sketched it out; cohered their many little details and facts and arguments into a grim but essentially sound masterpiece, a most chilling insight into the mind of Lord Voldemort.

_But wait a minute, does that…_

"Does that mean that the Boy-Who–"

He cut her off. Sounding sad he said,"Yes, Lily. It does not bode very well for young Neville."

She felt irritated at having used that stupid epitaph.

"How are we protecting him?"

"I am arranging for them to live in Godric's Hollow."

Nothing more needed to be said. She felt the stirrings of wild emotion within her and quenched it harshly. It was times like these that reminded her why she disliked the man, just as the rest impelled her to love him. But whatever the momentary disposition, there was one thing that was crystal: there would be no show of weakness beside Albus Dumbledore.

The afternoon had dwindled into a quiet and unspectacular dusk.

Shelving the thoughts aside for later contemplation, she looked around at the flora. The gardens of Godric's Hollow had long been the most spectacular in Britain until they were beseeched by Dark Witch Morgana, a pale ghost of her namesake Morgan le Fay. She had then brought the Dumbledores', thence neutral, into the war against her by stealing and soiling the most beautiful flower in the world: the fabled Flower of the Hollows. As a shrine, the small rock face they had passed earlier had been constructed and magicked. It was –

She shook her head at the ridiculous thoughts, a small smile sneaking onto her face. However entertaining the legends and myths were, she didn't have time for them right now. Too much work was to be done. Harry had to be handed to Remus, she had to make preparations for her impromptu journey to France, and she had to somehow disclose the ritual to James. Her time did not hold space for… for life.

She sighed.

"We must always have time for life, Lily," Albus suddenly said, spreading one arm wide. "And there is little that is more alive than this silence."

In an instant she had slammed her Occlumency walls up. The pleasing change the beautiful solidarity of this walk made from the mess the past few days had crumbled her concentration and in consequence, her barriers.

Albus chuckled. "Your apprehension was written upon your face Lily."

It took her a moment to realize that she had stopped and Albus had moved in front of her. Scowling she completed the exercise. She could not believe she had been so careless, and around Dumbledore no less!

"You did not probe me then?"

"No."

It was unlikely that he hadn't violated her thoughts, but she'd rarely heard him answer so emphatically, without any illusion or fog. She looked up and glanced into his eyes, concealed so cleverly behind those half-moon spectacles.

"Very well then," she said and straightened, sweeping her robes and her posture into a regal line and facing him.

He smiled and began to walk again.

And suddenly she wanted it to be over.

She was tired; tired physically, mentally and emotionally. The past few days had been a poisonous icing on a particular odious cake. She had no desire to spar with him, to go evading and simultaneously submitting to his insidious little advances. This had been his little revenge at her cockiness – which she freely admitted was born of her arrogance at her feats; she did not care to lie to herself. She knew why they were meeting, she had the upper hand and she knew he would wring it from her if the act continued. Well, _bugger that._

There was a large, beautiful adorned archway which opened up to the clearing. She stepped across it and felt the long grass tickle her knees. It was a large garden and the grass was long and violently green as far as the eye could see. There were a few trees, here and there. Towering hedges signified its boundaries and the subtle hint of power; of rigid resolute strength. It looked positively enchanted underneath the dim, obscuring light of dusk. She stood and stared, drinking it in. It had been too long.

She sighed, breathing in the air and stopped, sending an arm out to grab his attention.

She didn't need to. He had been already studying her.

She answered what she knew he had been waiting for her to reveal.

"It was a modified Fidelius."

He looked at her almost uncomprehending for a moment, before his eyes opened wide and shocked. With a wave of his hand a small couch was conjured behind him and he dropped upon it, mumbling. A few seconds passed and then he looked keenly up at her and swore.

She laughed.

The skirmish at Hogsmeade had seen something astounding; something Lily felt had inspired as much fear in the Death Eaters as Dumbledore himself: a wandless woman throwing and blocking the most lethal of curses with ease! A true wandless fighter, whipping in and between the lines of the Death Eaters' defenses, incapacitating with the wave of terrifying and naked palm!

It had been highly theatrical performance and she had nearly singlehandedly driven back half the attacking forces. They had been too stunned to competently react.

"If they do not know where my wand is, they cannot see it, summon it, or break it," she explained, waving a hand and conjuring a chair just as he had done.

He swore again.

She laughed giddy as a child. It was enjoyable turning the tables on the immutable Headmaster.

He spoke cautiously, as if suspending disbelief. "How?"

Instantly her mirth vanished and her face contorted back into the dead, serious look it had become accustomed to.

How? It was an answer heavy with misery. She had driven herself deep into that charm after returning to the world from Godric's Hollow. She had studied it, day and night, with a wailing but finally healthy child by her side. She had bitten down on the tears and wedged herself fiercely into the books as her husband left her side, night after night, out to do god–knows-what. She had bitten down on the tears so hard and long, that finally one day apathy bloomed through the pain, a welcome relief. She had driven herself deep into misery for two long years before one, just one special night…no, one special moment had lain bare what she had been so fervently searching.

How? It was a stroke of genius, of sheer accomplishment born through the vilest of pains. To answer would be to lay bare the history of the answer.

She didn't.

"I modified the Arithimantic Values of the spell using a recent muggle invention, the computer, for the calculations."

He blinked. "This computer…"

"Not now Albus."

"One last thing then," He asked, now at her intently. "Do you need the consent of the owner?"

"Yes." She sat upon the chair she had conjured. "Yes, you do."

0-0-0

She over herself in the mirror. She liked the way her hair framed her face, and how it accentuated the startling shine of her eyes.

Her face was one composed of clear angular lines and inset into it, like a jewel into its exquisite casting, a sensual mouth held firm by inflexible precision. Above all, the Veelas held pride in beauty which she knew she possessed.

She felt giddy, or at least tried to. It was an important assignment she had been entrusted with. At first she had wondered why she was being chosen, and had voiced her misgivings. But Albus had easily placated her, as expected. A male able to resist their charms, he had said, would be an affront. But a female as beautiful as any of their own would be readily welcomed.

_"Wouldn't I be seen as a… adversary?" _

_"The Veela's pride is tempered by their natural affinity for beauty." _

And she had agreed. The largest of the Veela societies were based in Paris, and that was as far away from here she needed to be. A change of air, of location, hell, the change of language might do her some good. She was being constantly plagued by her course of action. There had been less dramatic ways to bring about the same, but nothing as decisive. The ritual would tear away the remaining magical vestiges of their marriage as cruelly as James had torn away the emotional. A small, scared part of her rejoiced in that. And she would get guardianship of Harry.

She didn't know how she felt about that.

_"Remus, can you keep Harry for a while?"_

_"Going to Château du Charme, are you?"_

_"How did you…nevermind." _

_"I always know, Lily dearest. I always do." _

He always did. It wasn't Seering as many suspected, sometimes even James to her disgust. It was pure deduction, sprinkled with the werewolf's intuition? Or had that been just one of his ruses.

_"How the bloody hell do you know, Moony?" _

_"A Werewolf's intuition, Prongs. There are some benefits of being me, you know." _

Intuition or no, it didn't really matter. How the hell had he known where she was going? She had just obtained the information a few hours earlier!

Perplexed, she gave a little nervous laugh and looked again into the mirror.

_"Tu es exquise."_

The image flung all thoughts of Remus from her mind. _How could you afford to leave this James… _

And inexorably, brought her back to Harry.

Dear little Harry whom she sometimes wished in some godforsaken corner of thoughts, had never been born.

Lily didn't often lie to herself but here she was tempted to. It would be so easy to fling fabrications over her child, and smother him with the lies if only to protect him from the truth: that he had been the reason his parents systematically murdered all love they had for each other. He had been the potent catalyst for the end of her marriage. Firstly through his sickness and then like a turbulent wave shatters a flimsy beachside structure, when they learned that all their suffering had been for naught, that Neville bloody Longbottom was the Boy-Who-Lived and that they were going to be shoved aside by history just because of a misplaced scar and the delusions of a megalomaniac. It was cruel and hateful and immature, but it was life and they had been too young to understand. It would be so easy to lie, but she owed Harry the truth, someday.

_Honesty is a policy for only those able to afford it. _

Sighing, she looked at her watch. She had a few hours before her Order ring activated, taking her to meet one of Peter's many friends and her first informant. Surprising herself, she laughed at the thought. Peter was so smitten with her it was…amusing?

She still had a few hours for herself. And she was, rather, in a melancholy mood. _So, why not…no use wasting good gold._

Taking a small wad of paper from her dresser, she read the location again and apparated.

0-0-0

"Come in child. I have been expecting you."

Lily did not care to reply as she stepped through the doorway into the brightly furnished apartment. She wrinkled her nose as the smell assaulted her: it was a heavy and pungent odor that issued in bright colors from a small container kept at the center of a large circle that nearly ran from wall to wall. The furniture was propped up against the sides, a shabby red couch, a few worn out wooden chairs and a stand splintered by age. Although the room looked newly furbished, she noted there was plaster peeling off in think leaves around the doorway and the fan overhead creaked and groaned. Whoever had done it she thought, turning towards the woman, had not been thorough.

"Are you the Seer?"

"You know I am."

The Seer had a strange face, Lily thought as the seconds passed without movement; a face both impossibly old and ageless, with the wispy hairs upon the head the only definite sign of the years.

"Yes," the Seer said finally. "Is it you I have been expecting?"

Lily thought to answer but she hadn't understood the question, whether it even _was _a question – much less framing a reply.

The Seer nodded then abruptly turned and motioned her to follow. "Very well," she said, "it matters not much. You all come for but one reason."

"And what _reason_ is that?"

The Seer smiled. It was a strange smile. "That is for you to tell me, Mrs. Potter."

"Don't call me that." It popped out almost involuntarily and Lily winced.

Again that inscrutable little smile, almost like that of one lording a secret but not quite.

Narrowing her eyes, Lily followed the Seer as she crossed the room and lowered herself on the couch. The fan overhead created a monotonous buzz that was starting to quite irritate her. For some reason it all seemed…artificial.

"Do you believe in the future?" the Seer suddenly said.

"Of course I do."

"You do?" The Seer waved her wand and a crystal orb came gently floating into her hands. "Do you think I can divine it for you? Set it into stone at your convenience?" As she spoke the orb's surface grew darker.

Lily rolled her eyes. Melancholy be damned. She felt strangely cut off here, much like in the garden but without Albus to distract her thoughts, and it gave matters some much need perspective: especially her impetuous decision to consult this fortune teller. More accurately, her impetuous little _whim._

The woman was leaning against the couch, her arms folded on her lap, intently watching her. Underneath the light her features came into lucid focus: her beady eyes sunken deep into derelict contours lined and wrinkled. Her strange and supple lips, almost quirked, as if in amusement. Her frail body glaringly visible through the deep depressions underneath her gaudy, voluminous robes. The way she spoke, the clear and sharp tones that came out of those dilapidated lips did not correspond with the rest of her. She was f_ascinatingly ugly_ and completely out of tune; seeming artificial, like a prop in a play. Lily stood before her, watching her intently as the minutes passed and not one twitch of the muscles could she detect, not one hint of movement.

"Well, dear?"

Lily frowned.

"I think you are a fraud." _In more ways than one._ "That is what you wanted to know, isn't it?"

"Exactly." The woman laughed. "There are two kinds of women, Lily. Those who believe what I say. And those who will."

Lily blinked.

"Wait here," the Seer said, pointing to the couch while she slowly walked into the circle. "I must make preparations." Sitting now, beside the small container expelling the pungent fumes, the Seer began some ritualistic performance with a number of colored dusts and showy spells.

Suddenly, she stopped. "Tell me, child, is there any benefit in me doing thus?"

It took a long moment for Lily to realize that the woman was effectively giving her an option of watching the show or no. And however much she wanted to refuse – what was pretense when it was transparent? – She didn't. "No. Go ahead."

The Seer held her gaze for a long while before bending down and continuing her ministrations.

_Was that gratitude? _

This was not what she had expected. Having spent her Hogwarts years in the presence of Seers like Mrs. Crakle, Lily had always equated pompous airs and ludicrously grave tones with the profession of Fortune Telling. This frank honesty and biting understanding disarmed her. It provided a sharp contrast to her expectations, however vague and ill-defined they had been. When she had accepted the directions Mrs. Shaklebolt and heard Molly Weasley rave about this Seer's powers, she had anticipated… what _had _she expected? Feeling weary, she reclined against the couch and thought:

_It would be useless, I knew. I had no more faith in Seering then, then I've ever had: it's a foray of fools and housewives. But then why had I gone through with it? _The ambiguity troubled her. She had grown accustomed to understanding her own desires, to be able to dissect them and showcase them in their essentials. Why had she not discarded the little slip of paper like she predicted she would? What had kept it safe? And why the hell was she here now, when she needed to be in France in a few hours!

What in the world had possessed her? She was rarely impulsive, unlike James. He had effectively killed that Gryffindor trait from her.

"Come here child," the woman said suddenly, drawing her out her reverie. She looked up. The show was in motion. Around the center of the circle, upon the blue green carpet, red and green mists danced from side to side and the Seer sat solemnly beside the small container emitting the colored fumes. And despite everything, she had to steel herself from erupting in laughter as she walked towards the stage._ All the world's a play…_

"The future, "the Seer said gazing intently at her. "The future is fluid, like glass. If I warn there is a snag in my carpet on which you will trip, it is not necessary that you will—"

Lily tripped and fell.

"…nor assured that you won't."

Surprised Lily looked up from floor into the sparkling eyes of the Seer. "Don't wince, my child. Come, sit beside me. True it is I could have cushioned your fall, but one musn't keep from a child the pains of future." She spoke, not looking at Lily but at the flames withering in a small, glass jar in front of her. "The future you must learn by your wit and at peril."

Incredulous, Lily watched. _Bravo! What an actress! _she thought. This night would pay back after all, maybe not with _divined_ facts but at least with amusement. "Beautifully done." She commended.

The woman smiled. "It is an amusing trade, is it not, Lily?"

The uncanny alignment of the Seer's words with her own thoughts suddenly flared her suspensions. _Could it be…_No, no, not again! The spike waned and she calmed. It wasn't. The Occlumency walls were still in place, always in place. Undisturbed.

"Indeed." She took her cited place upon the carpet.

And instantaneously the woman grew serious. Her face hardened and seemed chiseled from stone. Her mouth disappeared, leaving a sharp, cruel line in its place. She tapped her hand against the glass container, and Lily watched startled as the flames it contained seemed to roar and grow, filling up the small space. The arch of colors dancing above her stopped and shattered, flaking away wildly into thousands of little pieces that disappeared by the time they kissed her nose. The air grew heavier than before, more pungent, suffused with a thousand wild and aliens scents.

_Drugs?__ No… impossible. Not from a Seer. _

Lily sneezed.

It was a beautiful show, she thought: subtle as well as utterly and completely candid. And more importantly, beautiful enough to entice a hundred idiotic females. She leaned back, and almost chucked. _Enjoy the show, Lily, enjoy the show. _Amusement was hard to come by these solemn days.

She sneezed again.

Then, in straight contradiction to the rest of the night, the woman began in a grave tone. "You will fail, and so you will suffer." She paused and flicked her wand over the centerpiece.

And instantly Lily felt herself reeling. She felt strange, disoriented…almost numb. But her mind flew wildly. _I have failed. My marriage has failed, my child is a fool. While the war wages around us, I steep in failure. _

"You suffering shall be threefold: yourself, your child, your _mhurg__."_

_Why should I live this way? Lily Evans, neglected like a cinderblock that had overstayed its use. _

"You! Will wander as a lost soul, in hate and in despair. All you touch shall die. Your lover, your child. Your _mhurg_ will condemn you to be feasted on by crows."

She couldn't understand what the woman was saying. The words struck her like faint whisperings from forgotten distances. But it didn't matter. Now, alone in isolation she felt the despair welling up, searing through her veins. _Oh James…_ love was hard to forget, even for a man like James Potter. It was a cruel and jagged climb upon which she had once lightly treaded and now she tumbled…

"But your child…what a child you will have! A king of beggars, a Lord of the flies! You shall love him, as a man loveth a woman, and he will be your death."

Her child. Her Harry James Potter. The prophesy child… the prophesy child not-to-be! What all they had done for him! How they had stripped away their lives to keep him safe, in hope that he would… but not even that, Even that the Longbottom's took from her. Even her husband –

"He will be born to those who have thrice defied _him_… born as the—"

What was this? There was a fog and she was swimming. Naked as the day she gave birth. And there, springing from her loins, red eyes and sharp hungry teeth…

"…seventh month dies…"

_The seventh month dies… _It was dying now and soon and soon it would be _his _day, her Harry who destroyed her life. NO! no, no, no… Why was she thinking…why were these thoughts coming now…

"…born to those who have thrice defi—"

There was a fog and she was rolling. There was a drug and she was drowning. A Drug! A drug! She strained to remember. A circle, a carpet, tripping, the air filled with colored flakes of showy…

…the Air! She had been drugged by the air! But whom? Whom? James?

"..and he shall be marked…"

No, not James. Not James. A woman. Whom? It didn't matter. Not at all. She was beginning to accept betrayal now, almost as an everyday occurrence. In this madness she wanted to laugh.

"…and have power the dark lord knows not…"

She strained to bring up her occlumency shields, straining for reason from a mind resigned to delirium. It would stave off the effects for a while…

"..and shall never…"

_"OLARIUS!"_

A gray shield blocked the spell Lily had shot. The woman stopped. Her eyes opened, wide and malicious.

"Who the hell are you?"

The woman laughed, and the laughter resounded in the room. It was sharp like the edge of a knife.

Lily shot another spell, but the shield blocked it. She still was gorgy, and the room swirled and spun as she stepped back, towards the door.

"You drugged me," Lily screamed, bringing her hand down with a flourish and shooting a dark purple spell that connected with the ceiling, bringing a snow of plasters on the woman's white head.

"You are no Seer." Lily shouted, shooting another errant spell that singed a large black area on some wall.

But now the woman was staring at her hand in fear. Suddenly, she snapped up and looked Lily straight into the eye. "I can do it too!"

Lily drew back and raised her wand. "One step closer and I'll blast you to hell."

The woman laughed and Lily wondered whether she was mad. The woman laughed and waved a hand –without any wand– and in an instant the doors bolted and the light dimmed and shattered into a thousand dying pinpricks. Immediately Lily tapped her head and cast a disillusionment charm, melting into the darkness. She felt like an idiot and the thought washed over her, cohering her despair. She shook her head with tears suddenly streaming through parched eyes. _Not now._ The drugs were pulsating against her, crashing against her shields vying to submerge her mind once into under their neurotic whim.

The darkness around her was complete, and as cruel as her despair. _Not NOW! _

She turned, trying to compute where the door would have been. _Oh, hells to that. _She slashed her hand and shot off a powerful curse that streamed with a violent violet flame into the darkness. A wand came to rest upon her back. _"__Petrificus__."_

The wall shattered with a scream. Through the jagged mouth now carved into it, pale light flowed in, dispelling the darkness. She froze as a cool liquid trickled though her, turning her akin to stone. She fell and smacked her head against the floor. There was no pain.

And there she was, proud and beautiful, with skin pale as winter and emerald eyes sparkling with tears. Her red hair formed a halo around her face. Her breasts rose slowly with her breath.

The seer brushed back her hair and stared down at her. Her eyes were wide and blind with fear. "You are far too dangerous child, to be allowed to live."

_Why? Why? Why?_

Lily struggled against the spell, already willing it to break. If only she could move her arm…

The Seer smiled, her mouth nervous and quivering in her fright. "Sleep child, and pray—"

The _Petrificus_broke. Lily lashed out with her magic, a purple flame materializing by her side. She couldn't think, the drugs clouded her. She couldn't think, her grief bubbled from the past and boiled. She couldn't think. She couldn't, couldn't, couldn't… She was sick of this. So bloody sick of all this.

The flame violently ripped across the room, slamming into the Seer. Lily couldn't see whether the wretched woman had died. But she heard the screams.

The flame ripped across the room, and a woman screamed into the drugged and psychedelic air. The apartment walls shattered like glass and came tumbling down.

And the women screamed and screamed.

* * *

**End Notes: **She felt irritated at having used that stupid epitaph. – Not a mistake, for those who did not get it. 

Or had that been just one of his ruses. – Not a mistake, again.

**Please be a responsible reader and review.**


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